Chapter 10
She had never seen anyone so happy as Gary at that moment, and the knowledge that she’d helped him get there was a bonfire of sweetness through Margaret’s whole body—which was a good thing, considering the fact that she was also really confused.
He’d gotten off, and she was beyond pleased about that.
She was truly delighted that she had helped.
If anyone deserved a good orgasm, it was Gary.
Her problem came from the fact that she’d just done what she always did with guys who wanted sex from her; instead of standing her ground and saying no, she gave in because she cared for them.
Because they wanted it. And so she found a way to give them what they wanted, her own feelings be damned.
It was an old pattern, part of her please-the-guy personality, and something she’d sworn to never, ever do again.
But—this was the really confusing part—had she actually felt something this time?
Had she just given in because he wanted this?
Or had she been actually aroused by helping him get off?
Especially after that really interesting kiss.
She’d never had a guy go so slow with her before, never had someone just tease with his tongue.
It was always a hard kiss then straight to the boob grab.
Margaret straightened off the edge of Gary’s wheelchair, startled to see that her hands shook.
Even more confusing was the realization that her breasts and belly felt heavy and a little tingly.
Was this arousal? The possibility was as frightening as it was exciting.
Two years ago she’d declared herself asexual and that was that. Had she been wrong?
She didn’t know. She’d been so caught up in Gary that she hadn’t focused on herself—which was part of her problem. It was always about the guy, never about her. So, while she was really happy for Gary, she had no idea what her own feelings were.
She needed some distance. To be alone. To think about this and figure out exactly what she was doing.
For that reason, while he was still relaxed with bliss, she went to the bathroom to clean up and was startled by her reflection in the mirror.
Damn… She looked like a wanton, with her full, pointy breasts and plump, red mouth.
Her eyes had a feverish sheen, and her face had a secretive, naughty look.
Oh hell. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was in hot, horny love.
But could that really be what she was feeling?
Could she seriously have misjudged herself and all the men she’d ever been with?
Up until yesterday she wouldn’t have considered it. She and Gary were best friends. She would not screw that up with bad sex, which was all she’d ever managed. Yet, here was an ache in her girly parts. It was totally new, and she didn’t know how to feel about it.
“You okay in there?” Gary called, his voice dreamy.
“Just cleaning up,” she answered.
She wet a cloth for him, but when she stepped out of the bathroom he’d already taken care of himself with some tissues. Then he looked up at her and she had to fight to hold his gaze. There was such happiness in his eyes. And love. A deep, warm sense of love that stole her breath away.
“Thank you,” he said.
She smiled self-consciously. “Believe me when I say that it was my pleasure. I’m thrilled that you have feeling again.”
He grinned. “Not in my legs, but you know what? If nothing else changes, this was totally worth it. Absolutely everything.”
She got that. How wonderful for him to enjoy orgasms again.
She needed to say something distancing, something about the things best friends do for each other.
It would put them back on the platonic level she was used to, but he didn’t give her the chance.
Instead, he rolled his chair right up to her as he teased her with a wink.
“Ready for your turn?”
“No.” The word came out flatter and colder than she intended. She’d been feeling something, yes, and that was nice. But that didn’t mean she wanted to spread her legs and go porn star.
“Hey, hey,” he said, his hand extended. “It was a joke. I’m sorry.”
She knew that. He didn’t expect her to go porn star. Those were words that came from her own head—and maybe from a jerk of an ex-boyfriend.
“Talk to me, Margaret. Please.”
She took a breath, feeling lost. Yet, who better to talk with about this than her best friend? He was holding out his hand, and she took it, slowly entwining their fingers. She was surprised to feel nothing but warm comfort in his grip. No coercion. No intent.
“I felt something with you just now,” she found herself admitting.
When his eyes abruptly brightened, she held up her free hand to stop him from assuming too much.
“But I don’t know what feelings are mine and what feelings are…
well, what you want me to feel.” She pulled her hand free.
“You’re my best friend. I want to make you happy, and you want me to feel all hot and bothered for you.
And maybe that will work, but only a bit. ”
Gary’s answer was simple: “I want you to be you, Margaret.”
“And you want me to be Miss Orgasmic Bliss in your arms, too.”
“Not if you—”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what I feel, Gary. I just don’t know.”
He was silent for a long moment. She was too, as she tried to settle her heartbeat and ease the tightness in her chest. She didn’t want to give him hope that she was anything more than what she’d said this morning: completely uninterested in sex.
Except, maybe she was interested. What if it was possible for her to enjoy it?
What if—with Gary—she could feel more than just muscle contractions that before had left her feeling emptier than ever?
He spoke, and his expression was gentle. “What do you want to do now?”
“Rest,” she answered. “And to make sure you rest so that you’re in good shape for going furry. Since that’s what you want.”
“It is,” he agreed quietly.
She nodded. “Then get in there.”
He wheeled into the guest room then waited for her to join him. “Lie down with me. Friends only. I won’t push at all. I swear.”
“You don’t know how to not push,” she joked. Then, before he could argue more, she held up her hand. “Just get into bed.”
It took a bit for him to adjust and lock down his wheelchair, but he managed. Maybe he had better hip control than before; it was hard to tell and she didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to get his hopes up any more than they already were.
He stretched out on his back, his chair beside the bed, and he gestured to her. “Come on.”
She nodded and kicked off her shoes. Climbing onto the opposite side of the mattress, she planned to just close her eyes there but he tugged on her sleeve.
“Not over there. Come on. Rest with me.”
“I am not going to lie touching you.” That would be too intimate now. Too…something.
“Fine. But be close enough to touch if I need you.”
She arched a brow. “You could always just say something.”
“I might choke or something in my sleep. I might get lockjaw, or my vocal chords might suddenly atrophy. I might get hit by a falling piano.”
She snorted. “You are such a pain in the ass.”
Still, she complied. She wanted to, really. If she was honest, she wanted to curl into his side and smell his scent. She wanted his heat against her skin. But she didn’t want more, and lest he think she did, she turned her back on him.
She leaned there against his side, letting her head rest half on his arm, half on a pillow.
If he’d had use of his legs, he probably would have rolled to his side and spooned her.
As it was, he could only cross his free arm over his chest and stroke her neck.
But damn if that didn’t cause a shiver of delight.
And damn if her nipples didn’t tingle with each stroke.
It was the most she’d ever felt, but she didn’t want to say so.
“Thank you for being with me, Margaret. This whole thing is better with you here.”
“It’s what best friends are for.”
“You know,” he said, his voice light. “Best friends can be together. They can get married and live happily ever after. Sometimes they even have sex and children. When they both want that….”
She didn’t answer. She wanted to say something smartass like, “Shut up,” or “Awww, how Hallmark.” She wanted to say that, but his words struck deep into her soul.
She wanted what he described. How awesome would it be to live a happily-ever-after with her best friend? It didn’t get any better than that.
But how likely was it that this strange aberration she was feeling could last? How could she know what was romantic love and not best-friend love? Was it really possible that everyone before sucked at making her happy in bed? Or was it something else?
“Margaret?”
“Go to sleep,” she said. “I’m processing.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Just think about us, okay?”
She snorted. “What do you think ‘processing’ means?”
He chuckled, and then she heard him yawn. Yeah, whether he realized it or not, he needed to sleep.
“Okay,” he muttered. “But promise we can talk about it later.”
“Okay,” she said.
Time stretched out. They both quieted. Eventually his hand slipped away.
Margaret still felt his warmth along her spine, and she swore she could feel temptation throbbing in her nether parts, but she wouldn’t indulge.
She had to be still long enough for him to fall asleep. Then she could get up and pace.